


A Week in a Life with Citrus

by blackchaps



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, Whump, citrus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 04:49:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackchaps/pseuds/blackchaps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Citrus?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Week in a Life with Citrus

********

Day One

********

Breakfast

********

“Have I done something to piss you off?”

John swallowed his food before talking, trying to set a good example of how to do it. “No.” He went back to eating.

Rodney‘s eye twitched and he stomped to another table. John picked up his orange juice and took a healthy drink. Good stuff. He should have it more often. The quiet was nice too.

Lunch

*******

“What‘s that?” Ronon pointed with his knife.

Carefully, John sprinkled just the right amount of sugar before he dug out a spoonful and took a bite.

Teyla scooted further away. “Whatever it is, it just… squirted on me.”

“Sorry,” John mumbled.

“You _are_ mad at me! You want me dead!” Rodney screeched and ran from the cafeteria.

Ronon and Teyla exchanged a glance that John ignored. “What?”

Dinner

*******

“Has anyone seen Rodney?” Elizabeth asked, putting her tray down next to Teyla.

“Nope.” John answered for everyone. “I think he‘s having a citrus crisis.”

“That doesn‘t sound good.”

Ronon grunted. Teyla looked at John as if it were his fault. John ate his blue jello happily.

*********

Day Two

*********

Breakfast

********

Rodney looked over the cafeteria closely before getting his food and darting to a table in the corner. He tried to keep his eyes down, but he noticed when the rest of the team came in and sat at their usual table. They probably all had orange juice. He hadn‘t realized that he was cramping their eating style until yesterday. John was never subtle. Rodney hunched over his tray and refused to care. It wasn‘t his fault he had allergies. Some people would be nice about it.

“Are you okay, Rodney?” Elizabeth looked concerned, but she was good at that. She didn‘t have a tray, so she wasn‘t staying.

“Fine.” Rodney tried not to snap. He sipped his coffee, waiting for her to leave, and after a glance over at John, she did. John didn‘t even have courtesy to look like he cared. Rodney lifted his chin in defiance but cringed as John stuffed a big slice of orange in his mouth. Even touching John‘s hand would be impossible now, not that he would.

Ronon glanced back at him and shrugged. Rodney knew what that meant. He wasn‘t a fool. Stuffing a biscuit in his pocket, he picked up his tray and left. He wasn‘t going to humiliate himself asking questions again. John would just laugh.

Lunch

******

“Are you going to lunch?” Zelenka asked.

Rodney pretended he didn‘t hear. He kept his eyes on the screen of his laptop. After a few minutes, he heard a Czech curse, and Zelenka stomped away. Watching his team eat citrus together wasn‘t Rodney‘s idea of fun. He found a power bar to eat.

“McKay?”

Rodney activated his radio. “Here.” He couldn‘t avoid talking to him.

“Mission briefing tomorrow. Usual time.”

“Got it.” Rodney clicked his radio off. He opened his power bar and took a bite. Chances were very good he‘d screwed up somehow. Said something. Done something. Wrong. Again. Teyla had probably given that ‘you are an awful man‘ look, and he‘d missed it. “Crap.”

Dinner

*******

“You realize that you‘re displaying classic avoidance behaviors.”

Rodney rolled his eyes. For a shrink, she wasn‘t all that smart. “Of course I am, but are you actually suggesting I talk to him? That‘s insane. He doesn‘t really talk anyway. He‘d just look at me, and really sometimes that‘s worse. I hate this. Is it so wrong to have an allergy?”

“Do you?”

“What?” Rodney asked in sheer disbelief. “What?”

“Do you really have a citrus allergy, or is it a pyschological condition, a way to get attention?” She smiled in a way that some people thought was kind. “Have you been tested?”

Playing back the words didn‘t make them go away. “You think I want attention so badly that my throat closes?” He was afraid he‘d screeched when she winced. “Where did you get your degree anyway? On-line?” He bolted from his chair and was out the door before she could answer. Disbelief was the least of it. She was crazy! Of course he‘d been to the doctor! After he‘d nearly died!

Frustration drove him out to a secluded balcony, and he paced wildly. It had been a miracle that he hadn‘t ingested any citrus until he was nearly three. His mother preferred apple juice. He remembered it very clearly. The only reason he was alive to be furious right now was because his mother had been a surgeon. Not that he‘d ever share that tidbit with anyone. Carson would laugh his head off.

“Rodney.” Heightmeyer used her soothing voice. “I didn‘t mean to upset you. I was just suggesting that perhaps you‘ve outgrown your allergy. It‘s possible. People do. We both know that you lacked a certain amount of attention from your parents. Think. It‘s just barely possible that you‘ve blown this allergy out of proportion.”

“I suppose my hypoglycemia is my imagination also?” Rodney snarled. He saw the look on her face. “Forget it. Obviously, I‘m more of a basket case than I realized.” He walked away again, knowing she wouldn‘t follow this time.

She thought he was faking it for attention. He wanted to throw things. Did everyone think that? Is that why his own team made a point of eating citrus? Had someone told them it was all a lie? He changed direction and was in the infirmary quickly.

Carson didn‘t even look up from his paperwork. “What is it, Rodney?”

“I want to see my medical records.” Rodney snapped his fingers several times. “Now.”

“What‘s this all about?” Carson still didn‘t look at him.

Rodney wanted to start yelling, but it wouldn‘t help. “Never mind. I‘ll hack into the system myself. Thanks for your non-existent help.” He couldn‘t believe he‘d bothered to ask.

“Wait! Rodney!” Carson caught up with him in the hallway. “What are you doing?”

“I want to see my records. It‘s not a crazy request.” Rodney lifted his chin. “People are saying things, and I want to know the truth.”

“About what?” Carson looked confused. “I haven‘t heard any rumors!”

Rodney wasn‘t going to explain further. “Give it to me, or I‘m going to get it myself. You decide.”

“I‘ll give it to you.” Carson put his hand on Rodney‘s arm. “Come back to my office.”

Rodney only went because he wanted the file. He was beginning to think everyone was against him. Carson sat down at his desk, and Rodney forestalled him by handing him a flash drive. “Put it on that.”

“I‘d still like to know what the bloody hell this is all about? Are you ill?”

“No. I‘m fine.” Rodney wasn‘t – that was the point – and if everyone thought he was fine, he was doomed. Carson was still clicking and muttering, and Rodney rolled his eyes. “Just let me do it.” He moved around the desk, scanned, made three fast clicks, and waited two seconds before taking his drive out. “It‘s not that hard!”

“For you, maybe!” Carson glared. “Tell me why!”

“No!” Rodney roared back. He headed for the door before they got any louder.

Carson yelled after him, “Go eat! Yer pale!”

Rodney didn‘t even wave back at him. The cafeteria was on the way, and he grabbed a cup of coffee but kept moving.

“Dr. McKay, will you be joining us for dinner?” Teyla asked in that way of hers that was calm and occasionally infuriating.

“No. So feel free to wallow in oranges.” Rodney stepped around her and went to his lab. Halfway there he regretted snapping at her. It wasn‘t her fault that John was acting like an ass, and that the entire base thought he was a faker. He had known they called him a coward, but he was, so that was no big deal. Any intelligent man would be afraid in a galaxy chock-full of Wraith. They were the idiots.

“Rodney, I have the test results from–”

“Yes, yes.” Rodney didn‘t give a damn. “Deal with it. If I have to, I‘ll repair it later.” He grabbed up his favorite laptop and found a secluded spot to read. By the time he finished, he needed to go back to the infirmery because his blood pressure had to be through the roof.

_Very mild case of hypoglycemia, which could be easily managed by healthy, regular meals if it weren‘t for Dr. McKay‘s insistence on eating snack foods._

_Claims citrus allergy but refuses the test so it‘s unknown whether or not he is actually allergic. No incidences._

The test might‘ve killed him! What a pack of fools! And because he was careful not to die they thought he was lying about it? He heartily wished he could send SGC a scathing email. This did nothing but further prove to him that medicine wasn‘t a science at all!

“Rodney?”

Rodney yanked the flash drive and shut the laptop. “What is it now?”

“I‘m, uh, going.” Zelenka‘s eyes were wide. “Bye.” He almost ran. Rodney didn‘t care. He shoved the flash drive in his pocket and drank his coffee. No more snacks? Did power bars count? Maybe he should ask Carson. Doubt flickered through him, and he tried to remember his last allergy attack. He‘d been… nine and at a friend‘s birthday party. What kind of mother puts kumquats on a birthday cake? He still remembered the panic, the guilt. Jeannie telling him that he always screwed everything up. It was extremely hard to believe that he‘d outgrown a deadly allergy, but stranger things had happened. What if Heightmeyer was right?

*********

Day Three

*********

Breakfast

********

John saw Rodney at the back table and decided to join him. Sitting opposite and one seat down, he smiled. “Rodney.”

“Colonel.” Rodney didn‘t get up screaming. That was an improvement. John took a big drink of his orange juice to test the waters. Rodney didn‘t pass out. Definitely good. It was possible that Rodney had gotten the message. John really didn‘t like watching what he ate just to sit with the guy.

“Ready for the mission?”

“Yes.” Rodney‘s hands were shaking slightly. It had to be caffeine as they weren‘t being shot at yet. John began to eat. He was no doctor, but Rodney looked rough around the edges this morning.

“Teyla said you skipped dinner. Sure you‘re up for this?” John tried to catch Rodney‘s eyes and failed.

Rodney shrugged. “Don‘t pretend you care.” One of his hands twitched.

John leaned closer. “If you endanger the lives of my team by being a jackass, you‘re damn right I care.” He pointed with his fork. “Did you sleep last night?”

The silence was enough to tell him the truth. Rodney glared. “I‘m fine. Leave it alone.”

“You better be.” John nearly grounded him right then and there, but some food might help, and everyone knew that Rodney didn‘t exactly have regular sleeping habits. “Meeting is in two hours.”

“I‘ll be there.” Rodney still wouldn‘t look at him full-on, and that was almost as disturbing as the fact that he really hadn‘t eaten. John glanced over his shoulder for Teyla. He could use some backup here, but when he turned around, Rodney was gone.

Picking up his orange juice, he stared at it. Rodney needed to learn that the world didn‘t revolve around him and his allergies.

“How long?” Ronon asked as he sat down with a tray piled with food.

“Two hours.” John set the juice down and picked up his fork. “Ready?”

Ronon nodded. “You‘re sorta stupid sometimes.”

John nearly flipped his fork across the room. “Excuse me?”

“You heard.” Ronon started eating, and that ended the conversation. John decided to eat and try to figure it out later. Teyla joined them right as he was finishing.

“Good morning.” Teyla gave them both a smile but sat near Ronon. “Is Dr. McKay joining us?”

“He ate earlier.”

“Sheppard drove him off.” Ronon shoveled his mouth full.

John had no idea how to respond to that, but he hadn‘t done it. Teyla sighed softly. “Dr. McKay relies on words, not actions.”

“Well, I‘ll see you both at the meeting,” John said with false enthusiasm. He had no idea what Teyla was talking about either, so it was time to leave. He‘d do some paperwork. That oughta cheer him up.

Lunch

******

“You‘re sure we don‘t need the puddle jumper?”

Teyla nodded. “It is a short walk.”

John nearly grumbled. He wouldn‘t have minded flying today. Ronon was clearly ready. Where the hell was Rodney?

“Where the hell is Rodney?” he yelled to the gateroom in general.

Carson leaned over the railing and answered. “One moment, Colonel!”

Craning his neck, he could see them upstairs. Was Rodney sick? John trotted to them just in time to hear Carson say, “Rodney, I willna clear you for missions if you‘re going to act the fool.”

Rodney had his chin high. “You know as well as I do that I‘m fine.”

“Carson, is he okay?” John demanded. He wanted to know before they were running and ducking.

Carson seemed to look Rodney over. “Aye. For now.” He turned and left without another word. That wasn‘t like him at all.

John tried not to glare. “What did you do?”

“Nothing.” Rodney started down the stairs without him. He wanted to grab Rodney‘s arm and demand answers, but Rodney had that look on his face. John hated that look. Rodney had made up his mind that he was dead, but he was going anyway.

“Dial the gate!” John was going to make this quick – in and out – and if this was all about citrus, he was smacking Rodney across the back of the head.

Dinner

******

“Teyla, watch him. I‘m going to climb that tree and try to spot Ronon.”

She nodded, Rodney glared weakly, and John tried to leave some skin on his arms as he climbed. Ronon was nowhere in sight, but for a big guy, he could blend and hide easily. John waited and watched for a few minutes before climbing down. He shook his head.

“Let‘s keep moving. Ronon will head to the gate.” John wasn‘t sure Rodney heard him. “You may have to go through with Rodney.”

“If I do, I will.” She lowered her voice. “The bleeding has stopped.”

John hauled Rodney up and started them moving again. “Stay with me, buddy.”

“Can‘t we rest?” Rodney‘s voice was ragged.

“Gotta get home.” John would‘ve hunkered down and waited for Lorne, but today it was a bad idea. Rodney needed medical attention, and Ronon was missing. They had to get back to the gate. “Rodney! Move it!”

“Going, going.” Rodney staggered faster. John tried to keep watch as they stumbled along, but they were screwed if they met up with anyone. Teyla had a big stick. That was it. Everything else, everything, had been stolen. Even his wristband. He was somewhat surprised they still had clothes. Ronon had taken it very poorly and dashed off the instant the ropes fell from his hands. John was going to talk to him firmly about that when they all got home.

“Why did we come here again?” Rodney mumbled.

John adjusted his grip but didn‘t slow down. “Seemed like a good idea at the time. I‘m still surprised they didn‘t kill us.”

“They steal. They do not kill. I had not realized that they were on this planet now.” Teyla was keeping up easily. “They would not have hurt Dr. McKay if he had not resisted.”

“Always my fault.” Rodney tripped and landed on his knees before they could stop him. He toppled to his side. “Go on without me.” His voice was weaker.

“Stop being an ass, Rodney!” John didn‘t yank him back up yet. “How far, Teyla?”

Teyla looked first. “Another mile?”

John made a difficult decision. “Run ahead. Come back for us.”

“It will be dark very soon.” Teyla didn‘t look convinced.

“Rodney‘s not going any further.” John touched her on the arm. “Please. Bring back help. Ronon may be there waiting for you.”

Teyla knelt. “Dr. McKay, I will hurry.”

“No rush.” Rodney shut his eyes. John sat down right next to him, and she was off running. She‘d make good time.

“Sorry I don‘t have a power bar.” John wanted to pull Rodney up on him. They might need the warmth. “Come closer.”

Rodney groaned and shifted until his head was in John‘s lap. “I‘m okay.”

John thought that was the dumbest thing he‘d ever heard. “Next time, let them have the damn laptop!”

“Fools.” Rodney shivered. “You cold?”

“Yeah.” John wasn‘t, but he lied to make him feel better. “You‘ll need stitches.”

Rodney didn‘t answer, and John put his hand on Rodney‘s face. “Wake up. You can‘t sleep.”

“Crap.” Rodney scooted closer, and John tried to hold him without hurting him. “John, are you mad at me?”

“No.” John went ahead and felt guilty. “I just like orange juice.” He felt as if he should apologize, so he did. “Sorry.”

The silence was a bad sign, and John searched for something to say. “How‘s your blood sugar?”

“Okay.” Rodney shivered again. “I have a mild case. No big deal. Heightmeyer says I crave attention.”

“So?” John stripped off his T-shirt and put it over him. “I‘ve seen you get woozy.”

“Nothing but drama.” Rodney gave out a small moan. “No aspirin?”

“I got nothing.” John wished he had more clothes to put on him. “Not long now. Hang on.” He held him closer as his teeth began to clack. It was probably shock. John hated feeling helpless. “Come on, Rodney. You‘re tough. Don‘t quit on me.”

Rodney made a sound like a snort, looked up at him, and John saw him pass out.

“Hurry, Teyla,” he whispered.

**********

Day Four

**********

Breakfast

*******

“You‘re a damn mess! Now lie down before I call Colonel Sheppard and inform him that I need a couple of Marines for the day!”

Rodney fumed but stopped attempting to get up. He really didn‘t want to yank out the IV anyway.

“Did I hear my name?”

Great, just great. Rodney wanted to pull the pillow over his head, but it hurt too much.

“Rodney is being a royal pain in my ass!”

“And?” John sounded amused. “This is different how?”

“Would you like to hear the list of issues I had to deal with when you brought him home bloody?”

Rodney groaned. He had to. This was heading towards awful.

“Actually, I would. Elizabeth wants a full report.” John moved to Rodney‘s bedside. “How ya doing, buddy?”

“I feel pretty good. You?” Rodney didn‘t want to be here. Enough people thought he was a damn weakling.

Carson threw up his hands. “Dehydration, shock, five staples in his stubborn head, and he was headed straight for a hypoglycemic coma!”

“He exaggerates. It‘s the Scot in him.” Rodney tried to find a smile.

John flashed him a quick grin. “Sounds bad. He said his hypoglycemia was no big deal.”

“The doctor in front of his name doesn‘t mean he gets ta practice medicine!” Carson didn‘t look happy. Rodney had seen it before. He stifled a yawn.

“So, the ‘glycemia stuff?”

“He read his damn medical file and didn‘t let me explain a bloody thing. I‘ve done plenty of blood work on him since he arrived here. It‘s gotten worse over the years. He can‘t fool around with it.”

“They stole everything. I had power bars for him.”

Rodney couldn‘t help but smile. “Thanks,” he said. “I‘m suddenly tired. Can you yell at him somewhere else, Carson?”

“I was yelling at you!” Carson took John by the arm, and they left together. Rodney could hear them whispering. John did care. He‘d just wanted to drink orange juice without feeling guilty. Rodney shut his eyes and tried to relax enough to settle the pounding in his head. Staples? He gingerly reached up and yelped when his hand was slapped.

“Hey!”

“Carson will kill you if you touch it,” John growled. “I talked him into not killing you for being stupid yesterday, but let‘s not push your luck!”

Rodney could see anger in John‘s eyes so he tucked his hands under the blanket. “I was not being stupid!”

John pulled up a chair and sat down with a thump. “Right. Instead of talking to Carson, you read a report, drew the wrong conclusions, and then didn‘t eat all day! Explain to me how that was smart?”

The words were impossible to deny. He felt a slow flush works its way up his neck. “I ate.” He had. Some. John didn‘t look convinced so Rodney tried again. “You don‘t know what it‘s like for people to make fun of you. You were born under a lucky star. Me, a dark moon.”

“Did you totally miss the whole Colonel Sumner thing?” John‘s voice was strained. “Didn‘t it ever dawn on you that the reason I was at Antarctica being a cab driver was that I was in exile?”

Events flickered through him, and he decided to tell the truth. “Everyone knew he didn‘t like you. I figured it was because you were way cooler than him, and as for the other thing, Antarctica was fun.”

“I did like it.” John chuckled. “I wasn‘t supposed to. I always knew you were oblivious.”

Rodney couldn‘t exactly deny that, but he counted on Zelenka to give him all the gossip. “Even you‘re tired of me,” he said, marking this conversation down to his head injury. “It would be nice not to be laughed at occasionally.”

“Falling over from refusing to eat isn‘t going to get you any street cred with the Marines.” John gave a small stretch. “And it would be nice to have a glass of OJ with you and not have you shriek. It‘s not like I‘m going to dump it on you.”

They exchanged a short look that Rodney had trouble deciphering so he tried a small apology. “I‘ll be more careful the next time we have a mission.”

“If I let you go.” John got to his feet. “Go to sleep. You look like hell.”

“Thanks.” Rodney didn‘t want to watch him leave. He turned and shut his eyes. His head still hurt, but he was alert enough to realize he‘d been an idiot and if it had been anyone but John, he wouldn‘t have given a damn about the orange juice. “Okay, so I‘m really stupid.”

“Glad we can agree on that!” Carson was back and still not happy. “The next time–”

Rodney pulled the covers over his aching head and that shut Carson up, thank goodness. “Sorry,” he said and sleep dragged him down.

Lunch

********

Carson set the tray down on the table and pushed it across Rodney‘s lap. “Eat.”

Rodney swallowed hard and picked up the fork. He was hungry, but his head hurt and his stomach still roiled. “Are you through yelling?” He took a small bite and hoped it stayed down.

“No.” Carson sighed heavily. “Aye, but Rodney, what the hell happened?”

Telling him was a bad idea, but he did it. He managed a couple of more bites and drank some coffee. “What if I‘ve outgrown it?”

The look Carson gave him was ugly. “The chances are extremely slim. I know Dr. Heightmeyer is a doctor, but she‘s not _your_ doctor. Before you do anything stupid again, you‘ll come talk to me. Is that understood?”

Rodney heard the threat and the promise in those three words. “Yeah.” He decided to concentrate on the jello. “It‘d be nice to be normal.”

“Get over it,” Carson snapped. “No one in this city is normal. Well, maybe Dr. Weir.”

They shared a short laugh, and Rodney had to push the tray away. “I‘m full.”

“You‘re nauseous, aye?”

“Aye.” Rodney loved the rolled eyes when he said that. He had to put the coffee down too. “Can I see the staples?”

Carson grumbled, but he retrieved a small mirror. “Yer hair will cover the scar.”

“Unless I lose it.” Rodney took a long look. “I won‘t ever argue over my laptop again.” He was probably lying. Unless he took Zelenka‘s. It was a good plan. “Ronon _is_ okay, right?” He hoped that memory wasn‘t a side effect of being bashed on the head.

“He refused medical attention for what he claimed was a scratch.”

“Wait a damn minute! That is so unfair!” Rodney regretted yelling instantly. His head about rolled off his shoulders.

“Colonel Sheppard convinced him otherwise.” Carson put his hand on Rodney‘s forehead. “You feel a mite warm. If you spike a fever, you‘ll be here for days.”

That was the last thing Rodney wanted. “I won‘t. Can I have my laptop?”

“You‘d vomit on it. Sleep, Rodney.” Carson double-checked the IV and then left him alone. He fiddled with his blanket and pillow and wished he were in his quarters. The food wasn‘t worth coming to _this_ hospital. It was the same slop everyone in Atlantis got. He stared at the ceiling and tried not to think. _Right._

Dinner

******

“No, you may not see him. He has a fever.”

Rodney clearly heard Carson‘s voice at the far end of the room. “Wait! Don‘t abandon me to the voodoo doctor! Whoever you are!”

“Very damn funny!” Carson yelled back at him.

“Come on, Doc.”

That had to be John, and Rodney raised his voice again. “If you don‘t, I‘m going to fashion a noose from the IV and hang myself!” He rubbed his forehead hard. Sick as he was, he shouldn‘t be yelling, but he was going out of his mind.

“Is that Gaelic he‘s cursing in?” John was suddenly there, and Rodney had to stop his hand from grabbing him.

“Yes. Crazy language. Even when he‘s not cursing, it sounds like cursing.” Rodney made the bed help him sit up. “Talk. Now.”

John looked surprised. “Well, let me think.”

Rodney folded his hands and tried to look patient. “Tell me what‘s going on since I was conked in the head, or I‘m going to find a way to kill you.”

“I‘m thinking Carson should sedate you.” John blinked several times. “Be nice. I have a lemon in my pocket.”

“You always say that. I‘m no longer frightened.” Rodney let his head fall back dramatically. It hurt, but he could live with it. “Please. Before I die. Entertain me.”

John groaned and got to his feet. “Carson! Is he gonna die?”

“Aye! ‘Cause I‘m gonna kill him!”

“See.” Rodney couldn‘t help but smile. He shivered a little and burrowed into his blanket. “Is Ronon all right?”

“As if anything could hurt the behemoth.” John grinned and sat back down. “Oh, that‘s your line. Seriously, he‘s fine. Teyla is badgering him to keep the bandage on until tomorrow, but you know how he is.”

“Insane.” Rodney was certain of that. He waved his hand in a gesture that meant keep going.

“Let‘s see: we did manage to trade for something that tastes sorta like coffee, Elizabeth is furious at you, and Zelenka promised to repair your laptop.”

Rodney sat completely up and clutched John‘s arm. “For God‘s sake, Sheppard, don‘t let him touch my laptop!”

John had the temerity to laugh. “He said that‘d be your reaction.” He laughed some more. “Okay, stop trying to kill me with your eyes. You can fix it when Carson cuts you loose. I put it on your bed.”

“Oh, thank God.” Rodney hoped his heart was still beating. “Wait. How bad is it?”

“If I tell you, you‘ll fall into a coma and Carson will kill me too.” John grinned. He patted Rodney on the forearm. “Bad.”

“Crap.” He‘d fix it.

“Ronon swears he found it that way. Swears.” John looked highly amused. “Think he‘s lying?”

“Like a rug. He probably kicked it in half trying to kill someone for one of his knives.”

“He does love those knives.” John nodded. “Okay. Carson is glaring harder now. Get well. No one has cried in the lab for over a day, and that‘s just wrong.”

Rodney wanted to grab him and make him stay. “Promise me you‘ll injure someone so I have someone to talk to.”

Carson marched up. “Out. Now. He‘s exhausted.”

“I can see that.” John smirked, but he left, and Rodney went ahead and caught Carson by the arm.

“Really. I‘m going nuts.”

“We‘ll go together. I‘m getting your meds, and you‘re going to sleep, unless you think you can eat?”

Carson didn‘t look hopeful.

Swallowing a big lump of bile, Rodney groaned. “It won‘t stay down.”

“Lay back. Jesus Christ, Rodney, you‘re sick!” Carson seemed completely disgusted with him. He suddenly felt guilty. A shiver worked its way over him, and he tried to get deeper in the mattress. He‘d shut up and behave, but he wouldn‘t like it.

*********

Day Five

*********

Breakfast

********

“How is Dr. McKay?” Teyla asked with a certain intensity.

John met her gaze firmly. “His head wound became infected. He‘s running a fever, and Carson‘s on a rampage. I‘m really hoping he doesn‘t blame me.”

Teyla‘s eyes glittered. “Are you responsible?”

“God, I hope not,” John muttered. He hated to think that he‘d set this all in motion because he liked orange juice. In his mind, Heightmeyer took some of the blame. She had planted the seeds of doubt in Rodney‘s mind, and he was never reasonable about his health. John glared at his orange juice. Okay, so he‘d been an ass. “Was it wrong to want citrus?”

“Only if you know it is going to hurt someone you care about.” Teyla‘s soft answer was dead-on, and he hated that she was right.

“You ever get tired of being right?” John made sure his tone wasn‘t sarcastic. He was genuinely curious.

Ronon plunked down next to them before Teyla could answer. “McKay?”

“Sick.” John went with one word. “Teyla knows it‘s my fault.”

“Yeah.” Ronon shoveled his mouth full of something that was near enough to hash browns. John rubbed his hand through his hair and finished his orange juice, since it was probably his last one ever. He was going to have to take one for the team.

“Perhaps we should all go visit him for lunch.” Teyla looked smug.

Ronon shrugged. “Carson might knife us. Could be fun.”

John sighed. “I‘m not going in without you. In front.”

Lunch

******

John grabbed Zelenka from the lab on the way to the infirmary. They might as well make it a party, and the more people between him and Carson the better.

“Teyla informed me that we were visiting Rodney today.” Elizabeth looked slightly perplexed. “He is doing better, right?”

“I‘ve been afraid to ask.” John grinned so she‘d think he wasn‘t serious.

Carson‘s hair was practically standing on end, and John honestly feared for Rodney‘s life. “How‘s the patient, Doc?”

Carson looked them all over. “If you‘re here ta throw him in the ocean, I won‘t stop you,” he growled, his brogue stronger than ever.

Elizabeth stepped forward. “He‘s improving then?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Carson rubbed his forehead. “I have him on broad spectrum antibiotics, and he‘s holding his own but not improving. Whatever nasty was on that planet, Rodney got a double dose.

“I‘m sure he‘ll be happy to see you all. I just had the nurse bring him some lunch.”

“Why don‘t you take a short break?” Elizabeth smiled and drew him close, almost as if to comfort him. “Maybe we could get Dr. Heightmeyer to take over a shift.”

“Absolutely not,” Carson spat. He was really glaring now, and John shuffled behind Teyla. “But I‘ll go have my lunch in the cafeteria.” He waved his hand back at the curtained off area that was Rodney‘s bed. “Dinna be touching him. It could be infectious.”

“Not airborne?” Elizabeth pounced on that.

“No, or I‘d have it, and my bloodwork is clean. Go on.” Carson shot John a look that boded no good at his next physical. Ronon got there first with his longer strides and threw back the divider.

Rodney‘s mouth fell open, bread fell out. “Are you trying to scare me to death?”

John smothered a snicker. Elizabeth smacked him on the arm, and Teyla casually trod on John‘s foot as she went past him.

“We have all been concerned about you,” Teyla said softly.

“So, you came to kill me?” Rodney was milking it for all it was worth, but he knew it, and they knew it, and it was okay. They found spots to perch, but no one hugged him, not that they would. “How‘s my city?” He wasn‘t really eating.

John looked him over closely as everyone else talked. Rodney was sick. This was different from the times he‘d keeled over for one reason or another. The dark shadows under his eyes and his obvious exhaustion were easy to see. John didn‘t like this. Not at all.

“Radek, can you get me some water?” Rodney made a small gesture at a small, brown pitcher. Zelenka had worn a stunned look the entire time he‘d been standing there, but he did it quickly. Rodney took a small sip, his eyes bulged, and John got to his feet. For some reason, this was very bad.

“Carson, get back here!” John yelled into his radio. It all happened so fast that time seemed to slow down, and he was able to pick out tiny details. Rodney‘s panic. The nurse‘s confusion stark on her face, and Teyla‘s hand slapping the water away.

“What is it, Colonel?”

John was sure he could hear Carson running. “Rodney‘s having an allergic reaction. He can‘t breathe.” He thought he was yelling, but he wasn‘t sure. “Zelenka, what the hell was in that?”

Rodney‘s back arched, and he scrabbled at his own throat, and John wanted to scream at them all.

“Lemon.” Zelenka‘s voice shook as he tore off the lid and stared inside. “I have killed him.”

More nurses were running, and someone slammed what had to be an epipen into Rodney‘s thigh. John couldn‘t stand aside one more second. Two big strides and he was at Rodney‘s head.

“Breathe, Rodney,” John stroked Rodney‘s hair back. “Breathe. You can do it. Don‘t worry. Just breathe.”

Rodney‘s eyes were beyond dilated. He wasn‘t thrashing any longer, and he stared up at him. John kept on talking to him as Carson barrelled into the scene and took an instant assessment.

“Tube him! Move!” Carson‘s hands were flying, but they were steady. “Rodney! If you die on me now, I swear I‘ll keep your ashes on my desk!”

John felt Rodney‘s tremors. “Breathe, buddy. Breathe.” He kept saying it, knowing that it was ridiculous. Carson gave orders right and left, and John was in the way but he couldn‘t move.

“Pulse is thready,” Carson muttered. “But his airway is clear.” He was attaching something to Rodney‘s mouth that made John wince. He kept staring into Rodney‘s eyes, seeing the fear, the pain, and the sudden relief as his lungs gasped greedily for oxygen. Silence seemed to fall, but John could hear him breathing.

“Good job, Rodney.” John spoke softly. “Good job.”

“Which of you daft morons tried to kill my patient?” Carson was very loud, but John listened for each breath. Everyone started talking at once, and Zelenka was speaking in Czech, which no one understood, and John grinned down at Rodney.

“Wow, you love to be the center of attention.” John saw a tiny spark go off in Rodney‘s eyes. That was a good thing, and he breathed with him.

Dinner

******

“John, you should go get some dinner,” Carson said.

John jerked awake in his chair. He hadn‘t been sleeping, just dozing. “Not all that hungry.” He checked Rodney‘s pulse without apology, relieved to find it steady. “That was…”

“Very frightening.” Carson stared down at Rodney. “I knew he was allergic, but I‘d hoped his run of luck avoiding citrus would hold.”

“So you believed him,” John said softly. He had believed, but he hadn‘t understood, and he‘d made assumptions that had been very stupid. There were a lot of people on Atlantis that didn‘t believe – thought it was a bunch of dramatic bullshit. He‘d set them straight soon enough.

“Aye. His mother was a brilliant surgeon.” Carson‘s grin was wide. “She wrote an article about him. I ran across it once in an old New England Journal of Medicine. I had hoped that his allergy had lessened with time.”

John clicked his jaw shut. “No wonder he has less than respect for your profession.”

“It‘s a lot of bluster.” Carson inspected the IV carefully. “You can‘t stay here all week.” He raised his head and met John‘s eyes firmly. “No matter how scared you are.”

Carson‘s eyes were focused on John‘s hand, where he was still holding on to Rodney. John wasn‘t going to admit that he‘d been far, far beyond scared. He swallowed, recognized that he needed to brush his teeth, and shrugged.

“But he is going to be okay?”

“I won‘t lie and tell you that this hasn‘t been a setback, but yes. He‘ll recover, now go find some food and a bed.”

“Radio me if anything changes,” John grumbled, but he gave Rodney a small pat and left without whining. He stopped at the main door and stared at the large, impossible to miss, sign.

_No Citrus Allowed!!_

It didn‘t even come close to being funny. He headed straight for the cafeteria. Maybe Rodney was right to make incompetents cry.

********

Day Six

********

Breakfast

********

“I know you have serious discomfort.” Carson patted Rodney‘s arm. Rodney thought that was the dumbest thing he‘d ever heard. Discomfort? How about outright agony. He tried to swallow but it hurt like hell, and talking seemed like a very bad idea.

“No talking.” Carson had his stethoscope out and put it on Rodney‘s chest. “Breathe as deeply as you can.”

Rodney tried. He ached, and he felt his body tremble but it seemed very far away. A thousand little thoughts shot through him, but more than anything he wanted to know where John was. On the heels of that, he knew he was being stupid. John was working. He wasn‘t going to hang out in the infirmary, staring at him all day and night.

“If you have to vomit, I‘d rather you didn‘t.” Carson sounded perfectly serious. “The hives will fade, but I‘m sure you‘ll have diarrhea. In your condition, I‘m not sure you can get up.”

The humiliation of it all swept over him, and now the last person he ever wanted to see was John Sheppard. Taking a breath that almost wheezed in and out, he tried to make his arms and legs work, but he didn‘t have any energy. The room twirled around a couple of times, and he blinked at Carson helplessly.

“Rodney, a panic attack right now would kill us both. Settle down.” Carson got right up close to Rodney‘s face. “Please.”

“Is he giving you trouble, Carson?”

That was John, and Rodney wanted to crawl out of his wretched body and go find some place to hide.

“Not really. I think he‘s panicking, but he disna have the strength to yell or flail at me.”

“If only he was always so cooperative.” John caught Rodney‘s hand. “Relax. The doc here is going to fix you up, and we‘ll be back busting Wraith heads before you know it.”

Rodney squeezed as hard as he could. He didn‘t really believe that, but it was nice to hear. Trying to breathe normally, he focused on that and John‘s hand, ignoring Carson completely.

“That‘s right, breathe.” John‘s voice was low. “Shut your eyes. Relax. Don‘t think about anything.”

Doing that was never easy. There was always something to ponder, but he forced it all away and did nothing but hold John‘s hand. He still felt horrible, but it was less, and he was so pleased when the darkness reached up and pulled him down.

Lunch

******

“He‘s worse, isn‘t he?”

“Aye.”

“Why?”

“Fever, dehydration, vomiting. He‘s wearing his body out faster than I can fix it.” There was a soft sigh. “Do you have time to sit and talk to him?”

“Sure.”

Rodney wanted to tell them that he was right here, and it was rude to talk about him like that, but he couldn‘t open his eyes, much less his mouth. He hurt everywhere. He remembered this. The week he‘d spent in bed at a hospital, feeling so guilty. His mother looked as if he were a giant pain in the ass, and his father hadn‘t even come to see him. Work. It was always work with him.

“I wish I‘d have kept that article his mother wrote about him.” Carson sounded angry now. “It might have helped me with all this!”

“Damn.”

Carson knew. The Scottish bastard knew and had been laughing all this time behind Rodney‘s back. Rodney _really_ hated doctors. He suddenly replayed the words and his own desire to live over-rode his shame.

“Eh,” Rodney whispered, trying to swallow and feeling the still-swollen tissues complain vigorously.

“Rodney?” John took him by the hand.

Rodney squeezed as hard as he could. “Meh.”

“His throat is raw.” Carson patted him on the shoulder. “Easy, Rodney. It‘s going to be fine.”

Calling him a liar could wait for later. Rodney tried to pull.

“Something‘s up.” John leaned over to put his ear right next to Rodney‘s mouth. “Try again, buddy.”

“Eh meh oom,” Rodney whispered, exhausted. He could only pray they were smarter than they looked.

“What did he say?” Carson demanded.

“In my room?” John was confused, of course. “Wait. He heard us. The article is in his room!”

“Stay with him. I‘ll go toss the place!”

John‘s squeezed Rodney‘s hand. “Good job. I don‘t think I‘ve ever seen Carson move so fast.”

Rodney hoped he‘d done enough to save his own skin, since he couldn‘t rely on Carson and his rattles. Thank God John was reasonably smart.

“Just keep breathing,” John whispered, and Rodney agreed with that advice. Time slowed way down, and he did nothing but breathe and try to hold onto John.

Rodney heard the click of John‘s radio.

“How‘s that possible?” John sounded frantic, and Rodney didn‘t like that. He tried to squeak out another word, but it wasn‘t happening. John continued, “Get Zelenka. Hell, get everyone to help!”

John was quiet a moment. “I know you. I know you better than I know anyone. There is no way you‘d drag an old magazine around. Anyone could find it, and we both know how much you dislike doctors.” He paused. “Laptop?”

Rodney tried to nod.

“Which one?” John stared at him. “The broken one? You took your favorite laptop on a mission?”

A groan wasn‘t easy, but he managed it. John tapped his radio on again. “Carson, it‘s in the broken laptop. Get Zelenka to fix it – fast!”

“You better hope he can figure out your passwords.” John was glaring now. “Is it a random mix of letters and numbers?”

Staring at him without blinking, Rodney hoped John got the message.

“A word?”

Blinking twice was easy enough.

“I hope that was a yes. Was it?”

Twice again. Rodney hated charades and guessing games.

“Animal, mineral, or vegetable?” John didn‘t seem to be joking. If dying wasn‘t a real possibility, Rodney would have never spilled his password, and he‘d be changing it almost immediately. He tried to look deep in John‘s eyes and will the answer to him.

“You didn‘t.”

Rodney wished he could pull the covers over his head. He shut his eyes and managed a wince. It had been stupid to do it, and he‘d never imagined he‘d be found out, and now he felt so moronic, which he hated more than anything.

“Rodney!”

Not opening his eyes was the best solution. John heaved out a huge breath. “Later, I‘m going to get you for this!”

That was a sure thing. If there was a later. Rodney shivered, and it all fell away from him again.

Dinner

******

Flailing awake, he immediately made sure he was still breathing.

“Awake again?” Carson was very close, and his hand was on Rodney‘s shoulder. “Swallow for me.”

Rodney thought about it and swallowed carefully. “Ow,” he whispered, but the fact he could whisper made him think he wasn‘t going to die after all.

“I‘m going to sit you up a little.” Carson did just that. “Now, drink as much as you can.” He put a straw on Rodney‘s lips. “That‘s it.”

It didn‘t taste bad, just odd, and it wasn‘t coffee, but he couldn‘t see that happening, so he drank. He had to stop, and he let the straw slip away. His throat felt… better, but still not good by any stretch of the imagination. The ashamed nine-year-old boy in him surged to the surface, and he whispered, “Sorry.”

“Aye, well, you should be, but I‘ll let it pass this time.” Carson was gruff, but there was a smile in his eyes, and Rodney let that be enough to reassure him. He tried to look for John, without seeming like he was looking.

“I sent the colonel to dinner.” Carson nudged the straw back. “Drink. You need it.”

Grumbling was out of the question, but he drank until he thought he‘d burst. He moved his head away and wondered if Carson was trying to drown him. “‘Nuf.”

“I want it all in you.” But Carson did take it away, and then he started an exam that was much too personal and intrusive.

Shutting his eyes and gritting his teeth was the only way to get through it. He had always been ambivalent about his body, preferring to focus on his brain. When it came to the physical side of his life, it was full of embarrassing moments – like this one. With his luck, when he opened his eyes, half the senior staff would be there smirking.

“There. All done. Relax.” Carson patted Rodney‘s arm in a way that was probably meant to be comforting, but just highlighted the fact that he was ill. “Drink again.”

Rodney didn‘t want to, but he did. Wrenching his mouth away, he sputtered, “Trying to drown me?”

“You need it.” Carson obviously wasn‘t budging. “When‘s the last time you pissed?”

That was an interesting question. He frowned and his hand flailed. “I don‘t remember,” he mumbled. His throat still ached, and he took another sip without being told. “Don‘t you know? Aren‘t you, like, a doctor?” he shouted. It was a feeble one.

“I know perfectly well, and that‘s the point.” Carson jabbed the straw at him. “We need to get things moving again.”

“Great.” The last thing Rodney wanted was for things to start moving. He still ached from all the moving he‘d done. Fast, he slurped down the last of it. “That was exhausting. If you‘re through torturing me, I need some rest.” He shifted enough to look at a different section of wall. “You‘re still nicer than my mum,” he whispered; his voice and the rest of him tired.

Carson settled the covers about him a little tighter. “And I‘m sorry for that, lad.”

Sleep was ridiculously easy, but later, much later, when it was quiet, and the room was darker than it had been, he felt a hand on his own, and he knew who it was without opening his eyes. He wanted to say something, but he always said the wrong thing, and he didn‘t think he could bear to hear John drawl out ‘Rodney‘ as if he were a moron of the highest order. Not tonight. Tomorrow would be soon enough.

“Drink?” John‘s voice was very quiet.

“Yeah,” Rodney croaked. He should‘ve known he couldn‘t fool him. John helped him up and then it was the straw again. “What is that stuff?”

“You don‘t want to know, but it‘s good for you.” John sounded sure of that, and Rodney nearly spit it out on principle. Swallowing came hard for having asked, but he did. John took it away and whispered, “Want to know something funny?”

Rodney wasn‘t sure. “Laughing will hurt.”

John sniffed the drink and then set it far away. “The virus you had? Turns out – the cure is some chemical compound found in citrus.”

The irony was painful. It was funny, but mainly because he might not die now. “Only in this screwed up galaxy,” Rodney hissed, “could the cure actually kill you!”

“Well, not me, but you, yes.” John was digging in a pocket. “Okay, close your eyes and open your mouth.”

Doing that was a complete act of trust, but he managed it. Something was put on his tongue, and it took a moment for his brain to make sense of the taste. He groaned loudly and sucked, refusing to chew and lose the taste one minute sooner.

“Do I need to leave you two alone?”

When it was gone, he found some words. “I will never make fun of your hair again.”

“Gee, I wonder what two pieces would get me.”

“Anything you want,” Rodney said with complete sincerity. John gave him a wicked grin, and he blushed even though it wasn‘t possible they were thinking the same thing.

John‘s grin didn‘t fade. “For every drink, I‘ll give you a piece.”

Cursing at him was tempting, but the lure of chocolate was greater than anything. He‘d cheat and make them sips. The straw came back after a quick nod, and John‘s frown made him take another sip. John rewarded him quickly, and he felt somewhat like a baby bird.

“If you‘d smear some peanut butter on that, I‘d marry you,” Rodney said after every lick was gone.

The grin was still there. “I‘ll remember that.”

The idea that John might have more chocolate bars hidden in his room made Rodney want to get up and go searching. His spirit might be willing, but his body was going nowhere. He‘d been dead once, but he never remembered being quite this sick. “Carson is okay, right?”

“You nearly broke him, but I think he‘ll live.” John‘s eyes twinkled, even in the dim light. “If I were you, I‘d stay healthy for a while, let him recover.”

Rodney nodded in complete agreement. “I‘ll try harder the rest of the time I‘m here,” he said softly. He would try to be less bitchy. It wouldn‘t be easy. Grumbling and yelling when he was bored was normal for him. “Hey, eat some.”

The smile that broke out on John‘s face made the loss of chocolate worthwhile. He popped a piece in his mouth and waggled the drink at him. Screwing up his face, he drank it anyway, and then reveled in his reward. When the chocolate was finally gone, he ran his tongue over his teeth for every last hint of flavor. John said nothing, and Rodney yawned. Sleep grabbed him again.

*********

Day Seven

*********

Breakfast

********

John‘s neck yowled at him, and he nearly hit the floor before remembering that he was in a chair. Somehow his head had ended up near Rodney‘s hip, and now his neck was thoroughly pissed off at him. Making sure not to groan, he crept from the room, took a very long stretch and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Here.”

Turning, he took the Tylenol from Carson‘s hand. “Thanks. I got it all in him, but it took chocolate to do it.”

“I‘ll make a note.” Carson smiled a little. “You think pudding is wrong for breakfast?”

“Desperate times – desperate measures.” John didn‘t smile. They had been desperate, but they could take a deep breath now. “He‘s going to be insufferable inside of four hours.”

Carson rubbed his hand through his hair. “Aye.”

“Dr. Beckett?”

They both had to turn, and John made up his mind to escape. “Hi, Kate. Well, gotta run.” He was many things but fool wasn‘t listed among them. Getting between two feuding doctors was tantamount to suicide. He headed straight for the cafeteria, coffee, and some food. Ronon and Teyla had beat him there, and he wasn‘t sure he was up to small talk.

“He‘s better,” Ronon said gruffly.

“It is a relief,” Teyla added. “Ronon is taking all the off-duty Marines running today.”

John blinked in surprise. “I bet I‘m a real popular guy right now.”

“I‘ll get the slackers tomorrow.” Ronon had an unholy gleam in his eyes. There had to be more scheduled than just a run.

“Did you–” He broke off, checked who was on his six, and lowered his voice. “Set up some surprises for them?”

Ronon didn‘t answer, but Teyla raised an eyebrow. That was a yes. John made sure to sound stern so they would listen.

“Carson is tired enough. No injuries.”

They both gave him a short nod, but he didn‘t believe it for a minute. “Teyla, warn the nurses to expect incoming.”

“Yes, Colonel.” Now that was honest. He relaxed and ate.

“You coming?” Ronon grinned.

“I‘m Air Force. We fly everywhere.” John grinned right back at him. Teyla laughed softly, and Ronon gave a grunt that meant John was a wimp, but he could live with that today. He stretched his neck again, remembered the Tylenol, and took them. Tonight, he was going to bed. No more hospital hours for him.

Lunch

******

He was fine. Damn it. No one got sick in three hours. It was ridiculous. Slumping over his desk, he put his head in his hands and squeezed. That didn‘t help at all. Gagging slightly, he tried to summon the strength to go to his quarters, but he was too damn tired.

“John?”

He wiped some sweat from his forehead and tried his best to look fine. “What‘s up, Elizabeth?” The room tilted, and he knew what that meant. “Shit.”

“Medical emergency, Colonel‘s Sheppard‘s office.”

Another free ride to the hospital. Carson was going to kill him. The next thing he knew, someone was shoving an IV needle in his arm. One of these days he‘d get used to it.

“I want a quarantine on all non-essential personnel until we know for sure who he‘s infected, and make sure everyone is heard from twice a day.” Carson sounded as if he were chewing nails. “And citrus at every meal.”

“I‘ll see to it.” Elizabeth didn‘t give him her usual pat on the arm. “At least we know the cure.”

“There is that.” Carson was suddenly right in John‘s face. “I‘m putting you and Rodney in an ISO room until we know more, and didn‘t I tell you to wear gloves?” The last was near a yell.

John groaned and tried to look pitiful instead of guilty. He hated those things. His stomach flipped, and he threw up on Carson‘s shoes.

“That‘s just the kind of week I‘m having.”

Dinner

******

“Psst, John!”

John couldn‘t even manage to roll over. “I‘m dying here. Leave me alone.”

“Wanta play prime/not-prime?”

“I‘d rather puke again.” John was lying about that. He‘d barfed enough, thanks. “Let‘s play – you shut up.”

“Let‘s play – how far can you shoot vomit?” Rodney had to be grinning. “No, don‘t face my direction.”

That made John laugh, but it came out weak. “He tell you when you get out?”

“Never.” Rodney didn‘t sound as if he were lying. “There‘s going to be citrus at or in every meal. I‘m on MRE‘s until further notice.”

“So not my fault,” John muttered. He struggled to make it over so he could see Rodney‘s face. “Did you hear the fight?”

“Kate and Carson? You didn‘t hear it in the cafeteria?” Rodney rolled his eyes. “I hid under my pillow and prayed they didn‘t start throwing hypodermic needles.”

“Did they?” John had to ask.

“Again. Hiding.” Rodney smiled a big one. “Nurses bolted in every direction. There was one under my bed.”

John wished Rodney would stop making him laugh. “Too bad she missed your blanket.”

“We think alike.” Rodney pushed his IV pole back enough that it wasn‘t in their line of sight. “Were you aware of the history of animosity between pyschiatrists and physicians?”

His eyes crossed. He was too sick for this. “Please. Don‘t tell me. Let‘s have quiet time.”

“What is this – daycare?” Rodney huffed. “You do look awful. Go back to sleep. I‘ll twiddle my thumbs.”

“Thanks.” John tried to sound sarcastic, but he missed it by a half-mile, and now that it was marginally quiet, he wasn‘t able to fall asleep. “To think this all could have been avoided if you‘d have eaten.”

Rodney let out a tremendous snort. “I still would‘ve been bashed in the head, and Zelenka still would‘ve tried to kill me, and it is not my fault that all of Atlantis is in citrus crisis mode.”

That was true, but later, they‘d have a talk about laptops versus the value of Rodney‘s brains. He also knew that Carson was going to blame him for the citrus crisis. “Tell you what.” He licked his dry lips. “In the future, no more citrus for anyone.”

“Now that‘s a plan.” Rodney very gingerly got out of bed and crossed the short distance to him. He didn‘t protest when a straw was put to his lips, trying to take a tiny sip. Rodney smiled and sat down next to him. “I‘ll last about ten minutes in this chair.” Their hands twined together. “Will this week ever end?”

“We can hope.” John wasn‘t sure when their new policy of holding hands had taken effect, but he liked it. As long as one of them was near death no one would smirk at them and make assumptions that weren‘t true, couldn‘t be true. “You ever wish…” His voice drained away, whether from fatigue or worry, he didn‘t know.

Rodney helped him sip again. “Get well, John. When our citrus crisis is over, I‘ll babble at you, and you‘ll nod a lot.”

That sounded fine.

“Get in bed, you daft git!”

“What the hell is a git?”

“No idea. Run.”

They laughed, Carson fumed, and Rodney went back to bed. John listened to them argue, and it lulled him to sleep. If he dreamed about swimming in orange juice, it was nobody‘s business but his own. 

**********

the end


End file.
